


In The Quiet Of The Deep

by mangocianamarch



Series: PROMPT FILLS [3]
Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Abuse of Authority, Dubious Consent, M/M, dubcon, some mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-10 06:02:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/782644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangocianamarch/pseuds/mangocianamarch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for a prompt I received for Kili/Thorin smut. Part of "Prompt Fills - Volume 2." See notes at the beginning of the fill for reasons why this is posted separately.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The Quiet Of The Deep

**Author's Note:**

> PROMPT: I've never actually prompted something in my life, but you said it was okay, so... maybe some Richard/Aidan (or Thorin/Kili...)? I kind of have a little weakness for bottom!Aidan and rough sex and angst and... *blushes* dubcon. So, can I maybe prompt something like this? Maybe rentboy!Aidan? Or Kili being called to service the King? Penniless Aidan and landlord!Richard? Or something like that... there doesn't have to be a happy ending, tho it would be nice. And I really love your writing!!!
> 
> \--------------------
> 
> So I've never written dubcon before. Ever ever ever ever. I've also only ever read two dubcon works in my entire life. So I don't know just how dub the con turned out to be in this. Let it be known though that I do not actually advocate dubcon or noncon IRL. Consent is always important in these matters IRL.
> 
> The reason I decided to post this as a separate work away from the other fills is for the tags. I didn't want to have the dubcon and violence tags to the general Prompt Fills - Volume 2 post. This is probably the most left-field fill in the current series of fills I'm doing anyway, so this probably won't happen again, at least not with volume 2.

From the moment they had all realized the implication of Smaug’s leave towards the city, Kili had perceived a change in his uncle.

Almost immediately, all the Dwarves had set upon the now abandoned mass of gold, picking and choosing loot for themselves. Fili and Kili’s eyes had widened at the sight, and Kili had barely been able to suppress a grin at the thought that all of this was finally theirs. Mountains and mountains of glittering treasure, now at their fingertips and ownership at last, after only hearing about it all from legends. Already Kili had taken upon himself a sword to replace the one he had lost to the Mirkwood Elves, and a ring that bore but one giant blue jewel. Fili, in the meantime, had taken his time, being more careful with his choices, knowing that most of it would be his as heir to the throne. The rest had filled their greedy hands and pockets to the point of swelling, and constantly swapped something they held for something else they find.

But Thorin has taken differently to the recovered gold. Day in and day out, he walks among and on the treasure slowly, hands clasped behind his back, eyes squinting, forever scrutinizing. Apart from the first day when he had found a shirt of mithril which he had then gifted to Bilbo, he has picked nothing up, hasn’t pocketed anything for himself, has barely touched the rest of the gold.

“Perhaps there is something specific he searches for,” Fili had suggested when Kili had told him of his observations, “A better sword, maybe, than the one the Elven king took from him.”

“I agree with the first, but not with the second,” Kili had replied, “If it was a new blade he was after, he would have found one by now.”

As their days inside the ruined kingdom pass, Thorin remains unsatisfied, ever searching, seeming to sicken from need of whatever it is he hopes to find. His mood darkens progressively, the furrow of his brow seeming to grow harsher the longer he searches. The other Dwarves can only watch, knowing all too well what getting in Thorin’s way now might entail. Even Dwalin and Balin, most trusted for advice and counsel by Thorin, keep their distance, although Kili suspects they know what it is Thorin seeks. At the peak of his frustrations, Thorin retreats from the chamber, disappearing to Aule knows where, and when he returns he is less sour, but no more placated.

“I want to know,” Kili tells Fili quietly one day, as they watch their uncle from a distance, “I want to know what drives him to such desperate anger.”

“I think we are all better off not knowing,” Fili answers, toying with the gem he had picked up off the floor only hours ago.

“But we could help him if we knew,” Kili insists, “Then perhaps he would be more like himself again.”

“Who’s to say this isn’t how he truly is though,” Fili points out.

“What do you mean?” Kili asks, confused.

“All we have known of our uncle is how he has treated us away from Erebor,” Fili tells him, “But our mother has told us countless times of how she feared for him finding his way into these halls again. She seems to think they might hold a power over him that would see him to ruin.”

“You talk of the dragon sickness,” Kili realizes.

“It took our great grandfather,” Fili reminds his brother, “It nearly took his son. Thorin is strong and pure of heart, but there was never any guarantee he would not fall to it as well, not when the very heart of the sickness is what has driven the Quest in the first place. I think his fear of it has made him all the more susceptible to it.”

“He wanted to reclaim our home,” Kili argues, “Not the gold.”

“The gold  _is_  our home,” Fili counters, “It is what made these halls great in their time. It is why Erebor was the mightiest of the Dwarf kingdoms. The gold is as much a mark of Thorin’s rightful claim to the throne as his blood. As it is ours.”

“And yet he does not want all of it,” Kili says, eyes drifting back towards his uncle now.

“Keep clear of his path, brother,” Fili advises, “If you insist your presence upon him, I fear you would find him a very changed man.”

Fili’s words go in one of Kili’s ears and right out the other. He was always the more impulsive and reckless of the two, qualities that Kili has come to not only own, but pride himself on. There is no doubt in Kili’s mind that Fili is just as curious as he to know what troubles their uncle so much, but Kili knows Fili would not dare risk his uncle’s ire for merely an answer to a simple question.

_It’s up to me, then, isn’t it, brother? It always is. I am the one who gets us in trouble, and you are there to get us out. That’s how it always works, doesn’t it?_

\--- + --- + --- + --- + --- + ---

Beside Kili, Fili is snoring softly, deep in sleep. Kili had given up the watch to Bofur an hour ago, but he is kept awake by nagging curiosity.

Thorin is not sleeping. Drunk on all the ale they had taken with them from Lake-town, he paces among the Dwarves and Bilbo, seeming deep in thought. Kili is careful not to make a move; if Thorin finds him awake now, he would lose his chance. So he waits with bated breath, careful to close his eyes when he hears Thorin’s heavy footsteps nearing him, and opening them after they’ve passed. He knows that whatever is weighing on Thorin’s mind will lead him to wherever it is he goes when his frustration has gotten the better of him.

Kili does not wait long. He hears Thorin bid Bofur to be especially watchful, as they have no idea if Smaug is still out there at all. Thorin’s feet then walk briskly away, his steps more sure, angrier. Kili looks to Bofur quickly, but Bofur’s back is turned to the sleeping Company. As quietly as he can, Kili rises to his hands and knees, careful not to stir Fili, and follows in Thorin’s wake. Once clear of the others, he gets up on his feet and rushes as silently as possible to catch up to his uncle.

He follows him through long corridors that turn almost unexpectedly, but Kili knows Thorin’s memory of these halls have never faded. With only Thorin’s torch to rely on for light, he however has to be more careful; though sharp of sight, he can only barely see the floor on which he walks. He walks in exactly the same path as Thorin, moving when he does, mirroring even the pattern of his footsteps so that any sound he might make will only seem to be Thorin’s own.

At long last, they arrive at a set of giant doors, broken and burned and ruined. After the doors is a long but straight path hovering above a chasm far too deep to see the bottom of. At the end of it, lit dimly, is a high chair, hewn of rock, stone and marble. Although he has never been here before, has never set eyes upon the room, Kili knows immediately where they are.

Thorin strides purposefully towards the throne, still unsuspecting of Kili in his silent wake. Kili wishes he could look around to take in what once must have been a grand chamber, but he dare not risk his eyes from Thorin, lest he lose him in the dark, or he makes a mistake that could cause him to be found out. Instead, he keeps his gaze trained on the back of Thorin’s head, until at last Thorin is climbing up the steps of the throne, his torch held aloft still in one hand. Kili stops and watches as Thorin’s free hand caresses the now destroyed armrests of the throne, up the back of it, to an empty slot just above where the king’s head would have been. Here, his fingers linger, tracing the shape of the niche almost lovingly. In the few seconds it takes Kili to understand what brings Thorin here, and what he has poured all attention on these past few days, Thorin’s anger bubbles over, and he punches the wall, his growl bouncing off the empty walls.

“The Arkenstone,” Kili says, unable now to hold back his wonderment, “You seek the Arkenstone.”

Thorin spins around, a simpering rage written all over his face, yet surprise mixes in it still. Kili stands his ground, though more out of bewilderment than courage against his uncle.

“What are you doing here?” Thorin asks him, “Why have you followed me?”

For the first time, a flicker of nervousness flits through Kili, and he takes a step back. “I was worried,” he replies softly, “You’ve been cold and distant from us since the dragon left. I knew something was wrong. I had to know.”

“Why did you  _have to know_?” Thorin echoes in question, stomping down the steps towards Kili.

“I wanted to help you find what you were looking for, is all,” Kili answers, ignoring his instinct to turn and run before Thorin could do anything about it, “You’ve not been yourself, and I wanted to be useful.”

Thorin stops in his tracks, staring at Kili strangely. He lets out a few mirthless laughs, and they echo ominously in the hall. “Useful, you say,” he says quietly, “You  _have_  been useful to me, Kili, in more ways than one. Could it be, instead, that you craved my attention again, now that it has been torn from you?”

This brings a blush to Kili’s cheeks. He had not thought of it that way, or perhaps had not wanted to. It is no secret to anyone (except perhaps to Bilbo, who knows very little of the ways of Dwarves) that Kili has long harboured desires for Thorin that go far beyond those of a nephew for his caring uncle, but he has not given them any action, and only a few drunken times has broken word of it at all. His affection, loyalty and deep love for his brother overshadows anything else, and makes it easy to put the rest of his cravings out of mind, although not always out of heart.

But here now, alone with Thorin, who has just brought up those very desires, Kili has no defense.

“Sweet, precious Kili,” Thorin murmurs, just feet away now from his nephew, “Darling, naïve Kili.” He puts a hand on Kili’s stubbled cheek, his gentle touch sinister and menacing. “So young yet to be weighed down by the troubles of an old man’s mind. And yet, here you are, fiercely beautiful with your age and your youth, offering yourself to me to ease my frustrated heart. For that  _is_  why you have come, is it not?”

“I...” Kili stammers, uncertain of his next move. Can he perhaps talk his uncle down? What would he have to resort to? What would his uncle do?

“Answer me, Kili,” comes Thorin's booming voice, his hand slipping low, behind Kili's neck, now more of a threat than an assurance, although his expression remains ominously sweet, almost affectionate, “Did you come to appease your king?”

“Would it please you to hear me say yes?” Kili asks in reply.

The smirk on Thorin's darkened face does nothing to ease Kili's trepidation. “It would,” Thorin answers, “It warms my heart to see you so eager to please me.”

Kili breathes out, steeling his nerves. “Then yes,” he tells Thorin, “I've come to please you, my king.”

Thorin responds by pulling Kili in close, lips crushing Kili's in a harsh kiss that Kili hesitates to return. He thinks his heart has stopped beating, his mind frozen over. He wants to push Thorin away, wants to tell him this is wrong, this is not the way he wanted this to happen, but he fears retaliation for his defiance. So when Thorin tugs at his hair insistently, he tilts his head back, exposing his neck to Thorin's unforgiving mouth, hands grasping at his uncle, his body at war with his mind and will power.

“I can feel your reticence,” Thorin murmurs against his skin, a warning in his tone, “You will not disobey me now, will you, not when you're doing so well?”

Kili swallows hard. “No, uncle,” he replies quietly, “But Fili might have noticed my absence by now, and -”

“Fili?” Thorin echoes, pulling away to look Kili in the eye, “You worry about him now, when you know my wrath bubbles just under the surface, and your willing offering to me is the only thing that keeps it at bay?”

Kili purses his lips shut. What does one say to the knowledge of such control over authority's anger? He shakes his head, looking past Thorin's ear to the throne. “My apologies, uncle,” he offers, “I am here for you. I shall not forget.”

“I shall not let you,” Thorin replies, and suddenly Kili is thrown back-first onto the steps leading to the throne, the edge of one striking him in the elbow. He winces in pain, but grits his teeth, determined not to make any sound that may anger Thorin further. Immediately, Thorin is upon him, kissing him hard and pressing a knee between his legs. Kili can feel his uncle's excitement at his pelvis.

“You shall not forget,” Thorin says gruffly, hands working to free Kili of his breeches, “I've long wanted to make you mine, but you yet shy away from me. But I have you now, all to myself, and you shall  _never_  forget. When you lay with your brother, his lips upon yours, his cock inside you, you will remember only  _me_.”

Kili lets out something he realizes is a pitiful whimper most unbefitting of him when Thorin's hand closes around his naked manhood, half-awake and betraying him. Thorin grips it tight, almost painful, and it elicits a gasp from Kili that he may not have had any control over at all.

“Did that hurt, Kili?” Thorin asks mockingly, “Would you like me to make it all better? Answer me.”

When Kili's answer doesn't come quickly enough, he tightens his fingers around Kili again, and Kili cries out. “Yes, uncle,” he pants.

“You've always been quick to learn and easy to teach,” Thorin replies, “Headstrong, but obedient, willing, pliant. But I want more, Kili, I want more than just obedience and compliance from you. I want you to want this, I want you to want  _me._ ”

And he does. Kili  _has_  wanted him, and he  _still_  does.  _But not like this. Not like this._

Thorin removes his hand from between Kili's legs, sitting up on his knees, still straddling Kili's thigh as he starts to undo his own trousers. Kili does not move, does not fight him, and cannot help the sharp intake of breath when Thorin's stiff hardness is finally freed. He thinks he can already feel pain where there shouldn't be. Thorin readjusts so that he is between Kili's legs now, spreading them further apart. He clicks his tongue at the sight of Kili blushing to be so exposed to Thorin.

“Now is not the time to be embarrassed, my love,” Thorin says softly, gently, “You are a feast for the eyes.”

Heavy-lidded, darkened eyes never leaving Kili's face, Thorin sucks a finger into his mouth, and then it's pressing at Kili's entrance. Kili makes the mistake of trying to squirm away from the wet touch. Thorin raises a fist and slams it hard into the stone step, just by Kili's head. It's enough to stop Kili.

“Do. Not. Defy me,” Thorin warns him darkly, punctuating every word with a rough push of his finger into Kili. He finishes by shoving his finger in to the second knuckle, and Kili cries out, startled.

“I'm sorry, uncle,” Kili manages to breathe, and that placates Thorin a little.

“As well you should be,” Thorin answers, moving his finger now, and causing Kili's body to shudder, “You and I both would rather you were sorry than sore, don't you think?”

Kili nods, toes curling inside his boots as Thorin turns his wrist ever so subtly. When Thorin slips a second finger in, spitting at where they are joined with Kili, his features relax, but Kili's chest tightens, still warring with himself.

“So tight, Kili,” Thorin mutters, kissing Kili's forehead lightly, “So deliciously tight.”

Kili cannot help but wonder how much longer that will be, considering Thorin's heat seems to be starting to hit its stride only now. His body continues to defy him as it tenses with every twist of Thorin's fingers, and when he angles his hand, pushes his fingers in as far as they would go and then curls them just right, hitting the peak of Kili's need, he lets out an abrupt gasp, his body bucking against Thorin. Thorin chuckles, smug as anything to have found that spot so quickly. Kili feels his stiffness stir, and he almost takes it in his own hand, but thinks better of it before the thought has even finished being formed.

“Can you take more, Kili?” Thorin asks, and it unnerves Kili that he is now asking, when he could so easily just take.

“I...I don't know,” he tells him honestly, hoping that it might save him from unnecessary pain.

“Try, my sweet,” Thorin says, but it isn't a request no matter how it sounds, “Try. For me.”

Without waiting for a response, a third finger joins the other two inside Kili. Kili whines, brows nearly meeting in the middle as he grits his teeth against the pain of the stretch. Thorin shushes him, stroking at his hair with his free hand and planting feather-like kisses on his forehead. His tenderness is frightening, but Kili's body is keening to it already.

Thorin's hand moves in short, quick thrusts, enough to cause stinging without pleasure, and Kili can barely take any of it. He writhes underneath Thorin, whining and pleading and whimpering, completely at his uncle's mercy. Some part of him is still fighting this, yet another is calming the other side down, trying to convince it that this isn't so bad, that it could be a lot worse.

But this isn't good. This shouldn't be good.

It shouldn't be this good.

“I want you, Kili,” Thorin breathes into his ear, “I want to feel you tight and hot around me, I want to be with you, I want to be inside you. Let me, Kili, it would please me. Will you let me?”

Thorin is not asking for permission. He's giving him a choice, but not the one it sounds like. Kili knows that either choice he makes will not leave him unscathed.

 _No_ , he wants to say,  _You can have me, but not like this, not in your state, not in mine._

“Yes,” he says instead, because it is the better choice, one that they both will eventually be able to forgive each other for in time.

Thorin kisses him eagerly, and this time Kili returns it, opening his mouth and letting his uncle's tongue sweep in and taste him. His beard scratches against Kili's skin, and Kili wonders that he has enough wits to even realize that little fact.

“On your knees,” Thorin commands, relinquishing his hold on Kili to allow him to obey. Swallowing, Kili moves, lifting himself off the stairs.

 _But uncle_ , he thinks bitterly as he turns and places his knees on the steps, bracing himself with his hands just a few steps above where his knees are,  _you taught me never to expose my back to the opponent._

Thorin nudges Kili's wider apart, and he does, stretching the limit of his breeches around his ankles. He hears Thorin spit, imagines he is using to coat his shaft to make entrance easier, but perhaps that's wishful thinking.

But then there is wetness, and Kili realizes it is Thorin's spit sliding gently down his skin, catching where the head of Thorin's erection is teasing at his hole. Slowly it pushes in, and Kili fights down the swear in his throat. Thorin keeps moving, grunting low, and Kili can feel every inch of him as he stretches to try and accommodate Thorin’s size. The hand Thorin has on Kili’s waist digs deep and will perhaps leave bruises, but that’s nothing compared to the ache at his apex. Kili jerks.

“Th-Thorin,” he stammers, “Uncle, _please_ , I can’t…”

“Yes you can, Kili,” Thorin says, “Yes you can.” Still, he reaches around and closes a hand around Kili’s cock, giving it a few careful strokes. It works to calm Kili long enough for Thorin to be able to push past the last bit of resistance inside him. He snaps his hips, burying the last bare inch of him inside Kili, whose back arches as he cries out. Kili recoils from the sound of his own tortured voice bouncing back into his ears.

“There, there lad,” Thorin coos, bending to kiss Kili’s shoulder blade, “Easy now.”

“Hurts,” Kili manages to say, grip like a vice on what he can grasp of the stone steps beneath him.

“I know it does,” Thorin breathes, and there’s something about his tone that makes Kili believe he never intended it to be otherwise, “But you can take it, love, and you’ll do it for me. Here, see?” He withdraws halfway, eases back in. “There you go, easy does it, lad.”

He is slow only for a handful of thrusts. Before long, his hips are snapping, flesh slapping against flesh as he claims Kili roughly. Kili is grimacing and wincing, but this is all he can afford; he knows that anything that might sound like a protest will only earn him harsher punishment. And again, there is that voice telling him to give in and enjoy this, as this is something he has long wanted himself.

Thorin’s movements are merciless. They are deliberate and rough, and then quick and selfish, and then slow and hot. The lack of lubrication means Kili feels too much friction, and he needs to be distracted from it if he is to endure. He reaches flailingly for one of Thorin’s hands, trying to direct it to his erection, but Thorin just laughs, using his strength to keep his hand away.

“Beg for it, pet,” he growls, “Let me hear the words come from your mouth first.”

“Touch me, Thorin,” Kili pleads helplessly, “Please, I can’t… _fuck_ , I need it. Please, Thorin.”

Chuckling, Thorin indulges him, taking Kili’s manhood in his hand and stroking him in time with the rhythm of his hips. Despite himself, Kili moans, his own body now moving as it finds some measure of pleasure at last. Thorin’s thrusts drive him into his fist and pull him back out, and Kili clenches around Thorin, causing him to groan in appreciation.

“I will not last long, Kili,” Thorin tells him, “Tight and hot as you are. And beautiful. So very beautiful, Kili.”

This is not the first time Kili has been told this, but somehow he prefers the honesty and admiration when Fili says it than the lust when Thorin does the same.

“Do you love me, Kili?”

The question surprises Kili, and the drunkenness behind it dismays him. What truly scares Kili, however, is how easily the answer comes to him.

“I do. I do love you, Uncle.”

With a growl, Thorin pulls him up flush against him, Kili’s back to his chest, turning Kili’s head and capturing his lips. The kiss is deep and hungry, and all the while his hips and his fist do not stop moving on Kili. The new angle of the thrusts hurts less, but pushes Thorin deeper into him, and Kili groans into Thorin’s mouth. Thorin’s teeth pull at Kili’s lower lip, and Kili’s knees nearly give way. Instead, one hand reaches down and scratches into Thorin’s thigh. He is too far gone now to want Thorin to stop, and he knows that if Thorin finds his weakness again, the end would come for him in mere seconds. It would be a relief, he thinks briefly and bitterly, to know that this could be over soon.

_But do I really want it to be over soon?_

Thorin’s lips caress the skin of his neck, and the answer to the question becomes even more unclear. He ruts into Thorin’s hand of his own will now, and at Thorin’s whispered encouragement, he adds his own hand, twisting at the head and thumbing at the weeping slit at the top of it. The growl he lets out sounds very much like Thorin’s.

“Do you want more, love?” Thorin asks him, “Would you like to find release? Would you like me to make you come?”

“Yes,” Kili replies breathlessly, “Please.”

The word seems so familiar in his mouth now that he has surrendered to the circumstance and the powerful arms that hold him up still. Thorin stills only long enough to reposition himself, withdrawing almost completely. When he pushes back in, he aims right for Kili’s weak point, and hits it with punishing accuracy. Kili lets out a guttural, pitiful groan, his knees buckling; if it weren’t for Thorin’s other arm around him, he would probably be back on his knees on the stone stairs. Thorin laughs darkly, repeating the movement, and Kili bucks, his Uncle’s name falling brokenly from his lips. He takes up his quick, rough pace again after that, and Kili cries out in abandon, his back bowing away from Thorin’s chest and yet pressing the rest towards him. He can feel himself clenching and tightening around Thorin as a deliciously familiar heat starts to build in his belly. Thorin’s rhythm is faltering as well, and Kili knows they are both close.

Thorin is whispering filthy urges and goading in his ear, has him begging and pleading and needing, and Kili mewls, his body torn between Thorin’s cock and Thorin’s fist. His mind has shut off, perhaps exhausted from the fight it has lost or sick of being ignored. All he knows now is the aching need for release, and the hot desire for Thorin to be the cause of it.

“I am not long for this now, Kili,” Thorin tells him hoarsely, “But I would see you finish first. Go on then, love, let go. Do it for me, Kili. Let go.”

Kili barely hears himself moan Thorin’s name, but all it takes then is a particularly rough thrust that strikes that spot inside Kili, coupled with a well-timed twist on the head of his erection and a quick, pressing brush of Thorin’s calloused thumb over the slit, and Kili is done for. He comes apart in Thorin’s arms, his seed soiling Thorin’s fingers. His muscles tense and contract around Thorin’s cock, and paired with the feel of Kili all over him, Thorin finds release, pushing Kili’s back so that he falls to his knees on the steps again. Just before he spills, he pulls himself completely out of Kili, pressing the head between Kili’s arse and spending himself there, watching his climax ruin Kili’s skin. The sound he lets out is feral, and doesn’t sound much like him at all, at least to Kili’s ears. When it’s over at last, Thorin collapses to Kili’s side, panting for breath as he pulls his breeches up and does up the drawstrings.

The exhaustion of his struggle takes over Kili, and he falls to his side at last, spent but not guiltless. He looks to his Uncle, and finds him turned towards the ceiling, eyes closed and chest heaving as he regains his breathing. Now without the distraction of physical ecstasy, the reality of the situation comes crashing back down around Kili. He feels himself close to tears, hating himself when he knows he should be hating Thorin. But no, he let this happen. He gave in to save himself from worse possibilities. Thorin had not completely forced himself on Kili, this much was true as well. Kili tries to etch the thought into his brain in hopes that when – if - the time comes, it would help him forgive Thorin, even if he would perhaps not be able to completely forgive himself.

Thorin remains still beside him. Kili finds enough strength and wits to collect himself, pulling his trousers up and tying them again. He can barely see himself in the dark, but he hopes that he looks put-together enough for no one to be suspicious that anything has happened. He knows he has to leave quickly, before anyone in the Company awakes and finds him gone. He reaches out a hand tentatively to Thorin.

“No,” Thorin says before Kili’s hand even touches him, “Leave. Now.”

Kili does not. Even in the dim light of the torches by the throne, he can see that Thorin’s expression has completely changed, and it seems to him (at least in hope) that Thorin is not completely detached from what had just transpired between them. Already Kili’s resolve softens, and he knows that if Thorin asked him for it now, he would all too quickly grant him forgiveness.

“Uncle,” he begins to say.

“ _Go_ ,” Thorin says gruffly, angrily, and a sadness for him comes over Kili such as he has never known before.

Kili retracts his hand, gingerly gets up, and begins the long trek back to the others, his Uncle no lighter a weight on his mind than before he had woken to follow him.

 

**_~ END. ~_ **


End file.
